Hi, My Name Is
by Tigerdust
Summary: Dean Winchester has been in recovery for three years. The only bright spot in his world is antagonizing Castiel during the weekly meetings. But sometimes people are just too good to heckle for too long a time.
1. Chapter 1

Dean hates the chairs more than he hates the low wattage buzzing lightbulbs they huddle around like moths. He hates the smell of piss covered by the obnoxious odor of bleach at this downtown Methodist joint. He hates the stale donuts. He hates everything.

It must be Thursday.

"My name is Dean Winchester and I haven't had a drink in three years," he grumbles when it comes to him, but his heart's not in it. Hasn't been since that night three years ago when he really thought about what his name meant, what being Dean Winchester meant. It was the same night that cop had found him dangling just above the bridge, then nose of his beloved Impala tilting down further and further into a watery chasm.

And those had been the good old days.

"Hello Dean," comes the lackluster murmur from the rest of the room. Dean doesn't even sit like anyone else in the group, his hostile little way of thumbing his nose at the world. He folds his arms across the back of his chair and lays his chin inside them, hiding his mouth. He's so sick to death of talking about himself and of being himself. He tunes out most of the meeting as much as possible.

Until they get to the Castiel character. The guy wears a rumpled trench coat like the damn thing is going out of fashion. He wears a disheveled tie like its permanently the day before tax season ends, and Dean is pretty sure that his face is stuck in permanent serious mode because nobody has been able to get him to see humor in anything since the third grade. Guess mom was right.

"My name is Castiel," he says as he stands yet again, even though it's his nine month anniversary and nobody really stands past their first month in the group. He held up his coin at the beginning of the meeting like it was some damn ending to a Star Wars movie.

"Hello Cas," Dean says above everyone using Castiel's full name. Castiel has asked Dean repeatedly not to do that. Dean's favorite response is, of course, "Blow me, Cas". Then he smirks and juts his hips apart as though he doesn't hate himself and life is a big joke. Only problem with this approach is that it's hard to know if he's the punchline or just getting punched most days.

Castiel is still standing as he continues the same introduction he's been using since the start of his "new life in NA/AA/SA/CA/All the A's", as Dean has referenced them, "It has been nine months, fifteen days, eight hours, and thirteen minutes since I have used prescription medication. My daughter is now able to talk to me on the telephone again, with her mother's consent. For this I am grateful. I was able to convince the church to allow me to host a family barbecue and for this I am also grateful to Him above that makes all things worthy and beautiful."

People applaud after the simple statement. They applaud because they believe that he believes. Even Dean, true skeptic that he is, can't help but be taken in by the fantasy of Cas' words. He wants to believe they're true. But he's not a sap. He hasn't been a sap since mom died in that church arson when he was four and still living in Kansas. He hasn't been back to Kansas in a long time.

The rest of the meeting is a blur. No one else is as fun to antagonize as Castiel. Dean's not even sure he has a last name, no one uses it, least of all the man himself. Dean watches Cas move around the room, befriending each person. Not for social standing but because the poor bastard actually likes people. He laughs at their jokes. He looks at the pictures of their third adopted cat in a year. He sympathizes. He empathizes. He's the goddamn AA Robocop Ninja Blender with extra attachements and a four year warranty if you call now.

He burns Dean's biscuits something fierce, so, when he approaches Dean in good faith, Dean does what Dean does best. He stuffs his mouth with stale donut and makes a face. Castiel clasps his hands behind his back, giving Dean the feeling of having a searchlight sear through his very face and burn away his facade.

"Mr. Winchester, good evening. I hope you find your week is going well."

"Maoidi;a adhaoid oadijfdklm ;daikjd;," Dean replies while chewing and swallowing, Cas far too polite to mention the little flecks of spit and donut going all over his shirt. After Dean swallows, he continues, "What I meant to say was I made mac and cheese and didn't pop my head in the oven afterwards, so there's that."

Cas quirks his eyebrow at Dean's smirk. "Mr. Winchester, may I ask you a question?"

"Fire away," Dean says as he bemusedly stirs coffee as black as his soul, mostly to have something to do with his hands.

"Forgive me for my bluntness, but why are you here? I have yet to see you truly try to connect with anyone, you openly mock the steps, your surly attitude and Clint Eastwood demeanor is clearly a rouse, tell me- why, if you care so little, do you continue to attend?"

Dean sighed. "Look, I guess it's because I had to come here for a year, court order. After that, it sort of became a rut for me. But seriously, you don't know. The Twelve Steps don't work. They never can."

"You lack faith in the process yet propose no way to enhance it?"

"No, what I'm saying is that the Twelve exist for the people outside of this room, not for the people in it. Look, I'm going on year three now and I'm miserable. Maybe being a drunk wasn't the best thing in the world but I was good at it-"

"You could be good at things now," Castiel added, trying to be helpful.

Dean shook his head. "I've lived behind the 8 Ball my entire life, Cas. Things aren't going to get better just because I apologize to people that don't even want to hear that shit."

"Your cynicism must make life quite difficult."

Dean shrugs. "Well, it's shorter that way too. I'll die of a heart attack long after your hippie ass moves into the forest to mill his own grain."

"I see," Castiel says with a short nod, "Dean, if I can call you that, I'd still like to learn more about you. You once spoke of a brother you had?"

"Oh yeah, Sammy. Haven't heard from him since I unofficially started the steps over. He does pretty well for himself, finishing up his law degree. I'm proud of him. I don't blame him for not wanting my screwed-up carcass around."

"Do you not miss him or are you hiding under bravado?"

"Hey, the bravado I hide behind is my business."

"Do you realize that in the past six months, that is the first honest answer I've gotten out of you?"

"Why do you care if you get an honest answer out of me at all?"

Castiel shook his head at Dean and looked at him with intensity. "I cannot tell you how much this program has meant to me. Perhaps for you it is different but maybe one day you will be able to pull your ass out of your head once and see that there is value to this."

Dean snorted. "You helped cowrite Imagine, didn't you?"


	2. Chapter 2

Dean turned over the little card in his hand. He looked up at the address and back down at the card and then back again. He could hear the grill in the back and the strains of Electric Light Orchestra, but the house was just too - It was really too perfect. One of those nearly creepy but almost human enough suburban houses, just the right touch of dilapidation to scream bachelor without getting in trouble with the homeowner's association. Dean's stomach churned at the thought of seeing this place owned by the righteous and upstanding Castiel and then going back to his little shithole of a loft.

Regardless of this, he soldiered on to the door, trying to look casual and sauntering on. He started to knock on the door, which was opened by one of the women from group named Charlie.

"Greetings," she said cheerfully, holding up a Vulcan gesture instead of a wave.

"Hi. He even has nametags?" Dean asked.

Charlie pointed to the basket on the table by the front door and the numerous coat spigots that had been installed. "Yep. He's in the kitchen if you want to say hi, but don't make trouble. He's nice."

"What do you mean don't make trouble? Do I look like a trouble maker to you?"

Charlie rolled her eyes, walking away. Dean closed the door behind himself, placing his basket of banana bread on the table and shrugging out of his coat, leaving it to hang on a hook. He walked his basket into the kitchen and set it down on the island.

Castiel's back was turned but he must have heard Dean walk in. "Hello, Dean," Castiel said without turning around. "Welcome to the barbecue."

"This is a swell house you've got here, thanks for hosting. I brought banana bread."

"It's my pleasure, of course. Just leave the banana bread on the counter and I'll get it cut up in a moment. Most of the guests are in the backyard, if you'd like to join them."

Dean swatted away the too polite request to leave Castiel's kitchen. He walked over to where Castiel was frying bacon. "Smells good."

"Yes, well, I find that people really seem to enjoy my version of a BLT with avacado, so I do my best to please. I've even learned the craft of homemade bread since I've entered the program."

"Well, shit, you're just an overachiever! Between the cursive invitation cards and this, you're gonna spoil us poor bastards."

"Dean..." Castiel said with a slight warning tone.

"All right, all right. I'm going," Dean said, snatching up a piece of avacado from a nearby bowl and popping it in his mouth. "Can't you take a compliment?"

"I will when there is an actual compliment," Castiel stated, mostly to himself.

Outside, Dean found himself faced with forced pleasantry, the thing he possibly ranked number three on his most hated list, two spots beneath aircrafts and a spot beneath procedural cop shows and all their damn spin-offs. He stood around stiffly, waiting for Castiel to arrive in the backyard when he saw next door kids having a water balloon fight.

"Hey kid," he barked as he scuttled away from the group, causing the three kids to stop.

"Yeah, mister?" one said, far off.

"How much for the water balloons? This grown-up barbecue sucks."

The kid nodded solemnly. "It looks like everyone's just standing around. Nobody's playing or anything. And it's hot."

"I know! Look, how about a buck for the water balloons?"

"Five."

"Five bucks for half a bag of water balloons?"

"Listen, mister, my mom says we're in a rec-recession and I figure you've got a car that needs lots of gas, so supply and demand and stuff."

"You're a smart kid, ripping off a man in his hour of need. I admire that." Dean pulled out his wallet and plucked a five dollar bill from it. "Here. Trade."

"Sweet," the ringleader toddled over and took the money while the two other watched with wide eyes. "Hey guys, ice cream on me."

The kids scampered off and left Dean holding a half bag of water balloons. He discreetly went around to the side of the house, looking for a hose and found one perfectly wrapped with dry ground underneath.

Son of a bitch, even the side of his house is perfect. Dean unraveled a part of the hose and very carefully, looking around to make sure no one caught him yet, filled up the rest of the water balloons. They felt squishy in his hand, odd and yet well placed. He smirked to himself.

He was just moving back towards the yard when he heard Castiel's voice.

"Okay, everyone, sandwiches are-"

Fwap. Fwap. Fwap. Splash. Splash. Splash. Two water balloons had hit Castiel dead on and the third splashed at his feet as he had tried to manuever away. The entire party came to a standstill, shocked at what had just happened. Half the tray of sandwiches were now on the ground and more than a few remaining on the tray were soggy enough to be inedible.

Wordlessly, Castiel set the tray onto a nearby grill rack that he was using to hold some of the food and walked back into his house. The grumblings, pointed murmings, and murderous eye stares- all in Dean's direction- didn't take long to begin. He tuned out most of what they were saying, though he did have the good sense to look embarrassed at least.

He ended up on the edge of crowd, ready to bolt for the front door when he heard a window above his head open.

"Hey, that's cold!"

A cheer went up from the crowd as Dean found himself underneath a veritable waterfall of frigid water. Castiel's head popped out of the window as he stared down at Dean, smirking. "Mr. Winchester, is the party now more to your liking?"

"Damn it, Cas, I'm soaked!"

"You're welcome. By the time you dry, I might actually have lunch made. I hope no one resorts to cannabilism."

And with that, Castiel popped his head back in the room and shut the window behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean doesn't know what he's doing at Castiel's door at one in the morning. He knows that if he doesn't ring the damn bell soon that somebody is gonna call the cops and he does not want to be back behind bars for twenty four hours, at least until they've fixed the air conditioning at the local station.

But, if he does ring, that's almost like raising a white flag. Dean Winchester doesn't need anyone, doesn't feel lonely. He can get a girl at any moment in any town he's in. That's the Dean Winchester way. He's just- he just had a bad day is all.

The television has been on downstairs the entire time, he notes. Its the only light that's on in the house and its almost unsettling that Castiel has insomnia. Dean doesn't want to imagine that. But the evidence stands, Ron Popeil squawking through the not quite sheer curtains. He raises his hand to the door bell and then lowers it again. He tries to knock and fails.

Dean turns to go when he realizes he's just being dumb and Castiel is probably the last person who wants to see him. The door swings open abruptly as he begins to walk down the little set of stairs.

"Dean, what are you doing?" Castiel's voice demands, hissing in the way only a bullfrog voice can hiss.

Dean turns, trying to stay relaxed. "I was- I was just in the neighborhood and thought I would swing by."

"At one in the morning?"

"Good point. What are you doing up? You should be in bed. Eight hours rest and all that jazz."

Dean can almost see Cas' face, the porch light not quite high wattage enough to denote his face but leaving a shadow in his furrowed brow.

"What do you want, Dean?"

Dean thrusts his hands into his pants pockets and looks around, a little lost. He hasn't practiced anything, doesn't feel smooth about this. Hell, Dean thinks, maybe I do need somebody right now I don't wanna fuck.

"I-"

"Did you have a relapse?"

Dean's eyes snap up from where they've been searching for a spot to land on that isn't a mix of Castiel's look of annoyance and concern in tandem. Dean wonders how in the hell he's managed to mix the two and why, all of a sudden, he feels defensive about his sobriety. "So what if I did?! Not that it's any of your business and not that I did- but if I did, it'd be my business! Where the fuck do you get off-"

"Dean, you're causing a scene. It was merely a question. Now before I close my door and release the proverbial hounds so no one calls local law enforcement under the misguided guise of heroism, I will ask again. What do you want?"

I didn't want to feel lonely anymore, Dean aches to say. It bounces off his skull and he tries to feel the words on his tongue, but they dance with such awkwardness that he only opens and closes his mouth a few times.

"Never mind," he growls.

Dean knows that's not what he wants to say.

And so apparently does Castiel, who walks rapidly from his front door to in front of Dean Winchester in a matter of moments, before Dean can just stroll away.

"Dean Winchester, you are infuriating. You constantly demean the program that's going to help you. You push people in the program away. You seem to want to do nothing more than to fall off the wagon and I suspect there's at least one person that wouldn't mind that at Thursday night's meeting. But now you're standing on my porch at one in the morning, afraid to knock on my door when I've been nothing but cordial. If this is some sort of-"

"I'm sorry I bothered you," Dean says, looking down at his shoes.

Castiel softens nearly immediately. He watches emotions pass over Dean's face and feels pity for him. "Come inside. I'll make popcorn."

"What?" Dean looks up, confused.

Castiel sighs in response. "You can do your level best to push everyone away and normally I would say that that is your business- not mine. But you've made it my business now. So let's go inside like two normal and civilized adults and have an actual conversation."

Castiel begins to head back to the door, Dean following, unsure of what he's doing. The house smells like popcorn when he enters and takes his coat off, leaving it on the same hook he used for the barbecue.

"Were you expecting me?"

Castiel snorts. "You think you're the only one with insomnia and a monster aching for release?"

Dean would normally take the bait, but he's feeling a little out of sorts. He hadn't actually expected Castiel to invite him in. Not after he was such a royal class jerk.

"You don't have a couch either," Dean states as he looks into the living room and sees a treadmill next to the tv, just off from the foyer.

Castiel shrugs. "I push it out from the bedroom when I need it, but mostly I use this room for exercise when not entertaining. I used to entertain a lot more," he says, the last thought ringing with a bit of hollowness in his voice that makes Dean uncomfortable- mostly because it's a voice that sounds like one of the ones that runs around in his head.

"Oh-" Dean says when the conversation lags. "So- popcorn?"

Castiel nods and Dean follows him to the kitchen. Dean sits while Castiel opens up one of those tinfoil popcorn jobs that you heat over the stove until it almost explodes.

"I thought they quit making those."

Castiel shakes his head, facing his stove but still talking loud enough so that Dean can hear. "I buy them in bulk from Costco, so even if they did- I'd have enough of a back-up supply."

"Cas- thanks," Dean says when the popcorn gets set between them.

"For not turning the hose on you again?" Castiel says as he quirks the brow.

"No- I- you're gonna make me say it, aren't you?"

Castiel chews for a moment before he speaks. "People have been very indulgent with you. No one but I has pushed your buttons. I assume, and correct me if I'm wrong, but even your sponsor has most likely given up on you. I do not find it even slightly ironic that it was my house you ended up at tonight. Though why you are here still remains a mystery to me."

"I-" Dean takes a second. He's out of practice. "My brother's fiancee sent me a wedding invitation. She wrote a note inside and I've been carrying it around for two days," he says, slipping the note out from a front pocket and launching it across the table.

Castiel picks it up and reads it after Dean nods at him to do so. "I do not understand the problem."

"It's easy- she wants to make peace but Sammy wants nothing to do with me. Not that I blame him but I don't wanna show up for his wedding like that. I know he don't want me."

Castiel nods. "I understand."

"How?" Dean asks, feeling as though Castiel is taking a melon baller and hollowing out his insides.

"I used to have seven siblings, my parents used their house and privilege to house foster children. Only one of my siblings and I even speak anymore since I've entered PA and that is mostly because Gabriel is- how to put this politely- he gives no fucks about what anyone thinks."

Dean's eyes bug out. "You just cussed."

Castiel shrugs. "I'm a grown man, Dean. Did you assume that I never use that sort of language?"

"Well, yeah, I mean," he says as he plucks his note and puts it back in his pocket. "I imagine that you wake up in your tie and trenchcoat and head off to work and come home and that's it. I don't see you as bein' real human."

"Then why come to me?"

"Because-" Dean thinks for a moment. "Because you believe your own bullshit, but not in a deluded way. And everyone else is a kiss-ass in my book."

Castiel tilts his head a little, as if trying to read Dean. "I'm not sure I understand."

"I bet you have your coin in your pocket, don't you?"

"Yes," Castiel says, wiping off his fingers before pulling it out and holding it up between two of them for Dean to see.

Dean nods his head. "See? You're an idealist. And a lot of others in the program are too. But they're masturbating idealists. They just want the program for the sake of the program, they don't really want to succeed. They're just looking for a loophole. You're the one that really wants to get better. You could get your family back."

"Why couldn't you? Isn't that wedding invitation an olive branch?"

Dean shrugs. "Not from him. Sam won't want to see me."

"How do you know?"

"I can't get the time off of work."

"You could ask."

"I can't afford the plane tickets."

"Then drive."

"To Stanford?"

"Why not? The I-5 is a beautiful piece of American roadway."

"It'd be dumb, showing up stag to my own brother's wedding. And what are people gonna say- it's not like I'm his best man or anything."

"Since when did you care what people think, Dean?"

"What if I drink?"

"What if you do?" Castiel says as a challenge.

Dean looks into Castiel's eyes, his brow quirked. "If I fall off the wagon-"

"Then you fulfill every prophecy you've been given. But you're just stubborn enough to not let that happen. Go to the wedding, Dean."

"I can't go alone."

"So find a date."

"Dean Winchester doesn't date."

"I don't blame anyone for not wanting to date someone who talks about themselves in third person."

"Can we talk about something else now?"

"No. Go to the wedding, Dean."

"He'll kick my ass out."

"You'll get over it."

"He's my brother."

"Who you aren't on speaking terms with."

"Damn it, Cas, let it go."

"No," Castiel says firmly.

Dean sighs melodramatically. "Fine. But you're coming with me."

"Excuse me?"

"Look, I find a girl to take and there's champagne- she won't be able to keep me from it. I need someone who can smack the glass out of my hand. I need you, Cas."

"I really wish you would call me Castiel."

"Ain't gonna do it," Dean says.

Castiel sighs in the way the world weary might. "You will have to introduce me as Castiel at this wedding if I choose to go. Let me go find my date book, perhaps I can accompany you if it's to enable your sobriety."

"You're a real champ, Castiel."

"Yes, I know," Castiel says. "Would you like some coffee to go with your popcorn?"

"Sure, that'd be great."


	4. Chapter 4

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Dean bolts upright from the mess of blankets he's swimming in. All that's left of his tuxedo suit is a wrinkled nearly white button-down that Castiel had advised him to wear, as if he was five years old and couldn't pick out his own outfit although okay, okay, even Dean will admit he owns more casual wear than is probably good for one person, and white boxer briefs.

"Comin'," Dean slurs, although his equilibrium seems to be shot.

Damn it, what happened? Dean asks himself as he looks around. He's having trouble getting to the door. His knee is skinned in a slim strip down to the top of his foot on the right leg. He catches sight of his hair- bed head mixed with dirt? Dean doesn't know what to think anymore, wonders if he should have the decency to act surprised.

"Are you alright?" Those are the first words out of Castiel's mouth when Dean wrenches the door open and pops his head out.

"Yes," he lies weakly.

"You have compost in your hair."

"Musta been an off-day," he grumbles.

Castiel crosses his arms. "Let me in, Dean."

"Sorry, not fit to entertain today. Try again in two to three-"

Castiel pushes the door back and past Dean, right to the minibar. He opens the bar to find it empty. He looks to Dean and back again.

"I know what you're thinking-"

"About how you made a spectacular fool of yourself?"

"I did?" Dean asks tentatively and then hangs his head. "Damn it, I knew this was a bad idea. To come. To try and make peace." He closes the door behind him and sighs as he looks back up at Castiel. "I'm a lost cause, Cas."

"No, you're not. Where are the alcoholic bottles from the mini-bar?"

Dean shrugs. "Beats the hell out of me. Didn't want the temptation, so I made sure ole Raoul got rid of 'em."

Castiel lets out a soft sigh of his own. "So, your idiocy was not alcohol fueled."

"No?" Dean ventures.

"Alright then. Well, you are up now. Your brother asked me to come and enquire of you. I am going to tell him now that you are alright. I'd suggest you get dressed, wash your face, go downstairs for some complimentary eggs benedict, and then meet your brother in the rose garden. His pastor will be there with him when you are ready."

"Sammy?" Dean asks, the voice catching in his throat. "I- I don't think- hey wait, isn't it supposed to be his honeymoon?"

Castiel stares at Dean. "How long do you think you've been sleeping Dean?"

"Uh-"

"It's been three days. I assumed you had successfully finished your bender by now."

"Sorry to disappoint, Cas," Dean says, snippy and tired of people always thinking the worse of him. After all, he already did that enough for everyone.

"No, I am glad. I do not want them to be right," he says, glancing at Dean in a soulful way that makes Dean feel naked and squirmy, as uncomfortable as all get-out.

"Alright, well," Dean clears his throat. "I'm gonna get ready, if you wanna-"

Castiel nods, looking like he's about to bow like a fancy restaurant waiter as he turns away when he turns around again, his hand on the door. "Dean-" Castiel opens his mouth to speak but then turns away before he can vocalize his thought, leaving it in the naked air as Dean watches him go.

It takes Dean half an hour to make himself presentable. But when he goes downstairs to the fancy hotel for the complimentary brunch, he still feels underdressed. Not that anyone really notices. The eggs benedict aren't all that great to boot.

He does find Sam sitting and laughing with someone in the rose garden. His face is positively glowing with joy. It matches the sunlight and Dean is gunshy about interrupting what looks like a great joke when Sam notices him out of the corner of his eye.

"Dean!"

For a moment, all Dean can see is his younger brother instead of the man sitting in the garden. It's still there, in the corner of Sam's eyes. Sammy's crinkles- the crinkles of working out a hard math problem, trying a new recipe, learning a piece of equipment or a weapon- those are all Sammy's trademarks. But there's so much else in Sam's face that it's nearly overwhelming for Dean.

He's changed, is the first thought that flashes through Sam's mind. Sam won't just let them shake like strangers though. Dean feels engulfed in his younger brother's taller body when the time comes to hug. His younger brother examines him earnestly and then invites him to sit on the stone bench.

"Cas said you wanted to see me," Dean says as he sits down between his brother and the strange man who's a pastor but isn't wearing a reverend's collar. He vaguely feels like the whole thing is a damn set-up.

"How'd you sleep?" Sam asks, dancing around the subject.

"Like the dead, I was out. I don't even know what really happened- though I guess from what Cas said-" Dean trails off. "I'm sorry for ruining your wedding, Sam. I don't blame you for wanting witnesses when you tell me to piss off."

"Yep, he's got all that charm you told me about," the stranger gives a little half-smirk.

"Thanks?" Dean says, looking at the pastor a little strangely.

"Dean, you really don't remember what happened? Oh man."

"I thought if I brought someone from the program, I wouldn't-"

"You think you drank?" Sam asked.

"Didn't I?"

"We didn't have any alcoholic beverages," Sam states. "Even the champagne was fake. I got it because Amelia told me she was inviting you."

"Sam, I'm sorry. That sucks."

"Why are you sorry? Because you saved the wedding? I was worried you got a concussion chasing the dog."

"I chased the ringbearer?!"

"It was epic," the pastor interjects. "You've got some moves. Did you ever play ball in school?"

Dean winches without answering the question. "So, what happened?"

"You met a golf cart, Dean. Head on. But you still managed to save the dog and my reception by extension. But I was worried. Cas was really good about keeping an eye on you so I could- you know," Sam blushes.

"Be marital and all that. Well, good on ya Sammy, getting some. Gettin' a good girl. You're gonna have a great life," he says as he rises.

"Wait," Sam begs when Dean goes to leave. "Don't go, Dean. I wanna start a clean slate."

Dean sighs. "I'm gonna disappoint ya, Sammy," he turns and looks his brother in the eye. "I'm no good. Or has all that hair cut off your circulation?"

"Dean, this is Chuck. He's my pastor. And he was like you."

"Twelve years," Chuck says as he extends his hand to the dumbfounded Dean. "I hear you're on year three. It's a tough year."

"So what, you brought a translator in case I couldn't speak your fancy Stanford language?" Dean spits the words out, feeling used when things looked like they could have been going in the right direction.

"No, that's not it. Dean, we've had a lot of rough patches. There was so much I didn't understand, Chuck has been great. He's so honest with me and I really think I'm starting to get it. And I miss you."

"Dude, no chick flick-"

"Dean, listen to me," Sam insists, "Amelia's pregnant and I can't do this without my big brother as part of my life. I know you've got an uphill battle. I know you haven't talked to anyone about mom's death. You need me. I need you. Please Dean."

Dean's resolve starts to melt. "You're having a kid?!" He squeaks it out inspite of his constant urge to be cool.

Sam nods, smiling again. "You're gonna be an uncle."

Dean's face draws of color and he shakes his head. His breathing stiffens slightly. "You, you don't want me for this Sammy."

"Who better than you?" Sam asks as he stands, trying to keep Dean from leaving the garden. "Dean, please. It's a truce, a start over."

Dean shakes his head. "I'll- I haven't been serious in recovery. I could drop off the wagon. I could hurt somebody. I can't be an influence in anyone's life. I'm barely an influence in my own!"

"That's where you're wrong," Chuck interjects. "Castiel and I spoke about you."

"What does Cas know about me?" Dean snorts as he looks beyond his brother to Chuck. "He's an optimist."

"He said you would be hard on yourself."

"So he was right," Dean shrugs. Castiel's right about a lot of things, he thinks to himself.

"Dean, you can't know if you're gonna screw up again until you try to succeed. I have faith in you," Sam says earnestly.

Dean bites down on his lip. Man, I'm gonna regret this, Dean thinks. But then he looks up into Sam's eyes. "Sammy, I-"

"Shut up, Dean," Sam says as he folds his brother into a second hug. "Or should I say, Uncle Dean."


	5. Chapter 5

"What's the happs, Cas?" Dean asks as he enters Castiel's kitchen from the back door.

Castiel's brow is furrowed as he looks at a waffle iron as though it were demonically possessed. "I believe I have a defective waffle iron," he quips.

"Nonsense," Dean says in a cheery mood as he leaves the kitchen door open so the smoke can dissipate before the alarm goes off. "You just gotta figure out what's wrong with it."

"Dean, no," Castiel says feebly as Dean goes to open the waffle iron and finds a stuck waffle, burnt to a crisp.

"Cas, you're burning breakfast," Dean says as he hunts around for a butter knife, using a fish scraper in a pinch when he can't find one. "What kinda waffle was this supposed to be anyway?"

"Banana nut chocolate chip," Castiel grumbles.

Dean places the waffle on a small plate, looking down at the charred hockey puck of dough and then looks up at Castiel. "Well, it's already dead or I'd say shoot it and put it out of its misery."

"Thank you for that," Castiel says as he looks away.

"Hey, hey," Dean says, catching himself before he grabs Castiel's wrist in support. "That was just a joke."

"I know," Cas says, sounding a little lost.

"Cas, man, are you," Dean skips a beat as though the word stuck in his throat, "okay?"

Castiel sighs deeply and then shakes his head. "My sponsor says that you are untrustworthy to discuss it with."

Dean moves closer despite his reservations about closeness with anyone, especially a guy. It's not that it's gay, okay- it's kind of a little gay to him- and that's not something he wants to deal with. Dean's already left that part of his life behind. There wasn't much of a choice about it.

Dean also knows that if Castiel is calling in his sponsor, his own reinforcements on the war against addiction, it must be serious. "I owe ya one, Cas," Dean says, though he's sure at this point he probably owes the trenchcoat clad man more than one. But whose keepin' score?, he muses in his own head. "Lay it on me."

Castiel's hands press down on the formica counter and then he looks up at Dean, his wounded animal eyes startling in their blueness. They remind Dean of a clear pool of water in summer, the kind of pure blue from the mountain- the last trip he and Dad and Sammy had spent together before Dad had disappeared.

"My daughter has won a role in a local theater production of Les Miserables. She and her mother have fought- about me- being at any of the performances."

And then Dean sees the emotion underneath the pain. Shame. Barrels of shame. And that's the hardest because usually he only sees that in his own mirror.

"Cas-"

That's all Dean can think to say and then he wonders, again, for the umpteenth time, what it was that Castiel was going to say that day he had woken up after Sam's wedding.

"My hand is shaking," Castiel says, holding up his hand. Dean can indeed confirm that it is unstable. Now I get why he burned the waffle batter, Dean thinks to himself. Poor guy's breaking apart.

"You doin' alright?"

Castiel looks long and hard at Dean. "I have not succumbed to temption. But it has been difficult. I- I have been to three different Rite Aids today, only nearly avoiding cough syrups and sleeping remedies."

"That what you told your sponsor?"

"No," Castiel says and a little thrill of pride comes over Dean. He's sharing something with Dean that he hasn't even shared with his own sobriety general. "He doesn't know about that. I do not know why I cannot tell him."

"Simple. You don't wanna seem weak."

"But I am weak. Otherwise I would not be an addict at all."

"That's not true," Dean says, barreling straight into Castiel's blue eyes. "Not true at all. I'm a sap and a sucker for trying to off myself but I'm the weak one. You believe in yourself. You ain't gotta justify anything to anyone because you try harder than anybody I know. Cas, you got under my skin and you're becomin' my hero. Or don't you know that?"

"That's- flattering," Castiel says after a moment. "I don't deserve such praise."

Dean snorts in response. "I'm rubbin' off on ya. Deprecation don't look good on you, Cas. Now look, way I see it, I go with ya to this little play thing then we'll be even, right?"

"Dean-"

"No, no. Unless you got a hot date you're thinkin' of askin'?"

"I do not. But Dean-"

"No butts. Or, as a grandma I once knew said, no nuts, no butts, no coconuts. Get the stick outta your ass, Cas, and accept my help. Capishe?"

"Yeah," Castiel nods solemnly, "I guess I do capiche."


	6. Chapter 6

Silence in the midst of cacaphony is a hell of a thing.

"There's mom!" Castiel's daughter chirps as she leaps off of her stool at the ice cream parlor, hugging her father before leaving Dean and Castiel staring at each other in silence. Castiel is not blushing but he's definitely flustered. Dean is wondering if he's mortified or amused by the whole situation. And doesn't quite know what to do with any of it.

"Dean-"

"That was a hell of a thing, Cas."

"Dean-"

"You know, I don't usually like musicals but-"

"Dean!" Castiel practically shouts, causing Dean to close his mouth sharply.

"You're makin' a scene, Cas."

"My daughter thinks we are dating."

"I know. Hell of a thing."

"We're not dating, Dean. My daughter thinks I am-"

"Your daughter thinks," Dean says calmly, in spite of the inner turmoil, "that you're lonely. You ain't been with anyone since her mom, most likely. At least no one she's been introduced to. You're makin' a bigger deal out of this than you need to."

"My brother is a priest. What will he think if this gets back to him?"

"One of the brothers you're not talkin' to?"

"You know what I mean."

"No, not really sure. What, I'm not hot enough for ya?"

"That's not- that's not the point Dean."

"Ha! You think I'm hot!"

"Dean!"

"Will you relax, Cas? You're gettin' all knotted up for nothin'."

"It's not for nothing," Castiel says, his fist pounding on the counter, shaking the straws and tipping over the multi-colored container. He's off his stool in a split second and Dean resolves to ask him, when he's cooled down, if he ran track in high school.

"Cas, wait up," Dean says, but Castiel is too fast. He's already halfway down the street and around the corner by the time Dean is starting to fight evening foot traffic.

"Cas!"

It's the longest week of Dean's life. New job, nephew on the way, same old meetings sans Castiel. A new girl named Lori, who is pretty hot with all her tattoos but definitely celibate. Or at least not interested in Dean.

He's worried about Cas but is pretty sure Castiel won't fall off the wagon. Pretty sure. Ninety percent sure. Well, maybe not ninety percent sure. It's not keeping him up as he tries to adjust to a new sleep schedule. Nope. It's the new gig as a bouncer at this swanky resort opened up by this guy called Gabriel that's keeping him up as his sleep schedule does the old topsy-turvy.

The women are pretty at this place, until they throw up. The alcohol flows, though Dean is pretty sure the head bartender is some kind of crook for watering down the bottles and putting scotch tape over some damn expiration sticker on the bottles. Who ever heard of alcohol expiring, for Pete's sake?

For the first time in his life, Dean is happy he's not the life of the party. And for the first time in three years and some more than loose change, he feels the sobriety begin to stick. Sure, sometimes he wakes up silently screaming, the smell of embers in his nose. And sure, sometimes he has trouble remembering what he needs at the grocery story. But he can tell people aren't dragging their kids away from him because he's drunk in the middle of the day. And he's not getting laid off for showing up drunk. Both those things make him more or less happy, in an objective "what is happiness?" sort of way.

At least, there's nothing to be ashamed of. Yes, things are looking up for Dean. Which is why the call shakes him so hard. He just hadn't been expecting it.

"Dean."

It's Castiel's voice on the other end of the line, sounding more gravelly than usual. Dean's an hour away from finishing shift and he looks around, trying to catch someone's eye. He has a bad feeling about this call.

"Cas, are you alright?"

"Dean." His voice is pleading for understanding, sharp with pain, haunted.

"Cas, talk to me. Stay on the line." His voice sounds a lot stronger than he feels. "Where are you?"

"I- I'm not really sure."

"Okay," Dean thinks quickly. Thinks back to a checklist he developed with Sam in the days before he knew he was an addict. When Sam had just started Stanford and they hadn't broken apart just yet. "Is there a street sign? Major landmark?"

"There is a -Wal Mart. It is very dark here. I do not know where I am, Dean."

"What happened, Cas?" Dean fears the answer.

"I believe I have exploded the wagon after falling off."

"Oh Cas. Man, just stay still and stay safe. Are you alone?"

"Dean, I have no one."

The words sting. Who the hell is Dean to him? Who the hell does he think he's talking to?

"I'll take offense to that after we get you safe. Now, can you find someone to tell you which Wal-mart you're at?"

"Dean, I cannot talk to anyone."

"Because-" Dean can only hazard a guess, and it's a familiar scenario that roils in his gut.

"Because I am nearly naked. My shirt is ripped. My trench coat is the only-"

"Alright, Linus Van Pelt. Don't worry, okay? I'll be there. You just sit tight. If I'm lucky, you didn't get too far."

Castiel looks so tiny when Dean finds him near the door of the Mega Wal-Mart on the edge of town. The fire has left his eyes, his head hanging as he nibbles on a slice of pizza. There is this pocked-marking like he slept on the side of the road grazing his face.

"Cas-" Dean's voice is especially soft, as though he's addressing tissue paper.

"Did you know there are 394 types of cheese available for purchase in America?" Castiel asks, an edge to his voice.

"Cas-"

"I will have to give my coin back."

Dean is there when Castiel drops the half-eaten slice of pizza on the ground. He scoops it up and throws away the half slice that's now lined with cigarette ash on the bottom.

"So?"

"I failed."

"You didn't fail," Dean said. "You get another chance. Or did you forget that's what these damn steps are all about?"

"The steps-" Castiel fumbles for words. "The steps are-"

"The steps are your life," Dean growls, trying to grab Castiel's attention before he did something he would regret. "What's this all about, huh?"

Castiel looks away. "I- I am thirsty. The- all the pills, they-" he can't bear to finish his sentence.

"Let's get you home. I'll make you some of that crap tea you like, alright?"

"I'll have to give my coin back," Castiel reiterates as he feels Dean molding him to a standing point. Cas wears Dean like a human crutch.

"I know, Cas. I know. But I'll be with you all the way, alright?"

Castiel makes a little noise in his throat and Dean thinks that it's the most human he's ever sounded. Dean hopes he never hears that particular note again.


	7. Chapter 7

Embers. Embers everywhere. Nostrils clogged. Skin covered. It's a volcano, dark and suffocating. Dean wakes up in a tangle of Cas' blankets, one of the couch cushions suspended nearly in mid-air, one of his legs sticking out.

Castiel is screaming in his sleep, Dean just on the other side of the door. He can hear Cas' voice, begging someone to stop doing something. A phantom. Dean scrambles to open the bedroom door and to reach the thrashing man wearing some nearly threadbare gray shirt Dean found in the back of his dresser. It's a shirt that smells like vanilla mothballs. Dean doesn't know what to think of the scent.

Castiel decks him and Dean is surprised by the strength. It'll leave a mark and Castiel will feel bad, probably berate himself. But its whatever for Dean. He's already decided that he will never let Castiel get as low as he felt when he handed his coin back to his sponsor. He will make it his mission to make Castiel better again somehow.

Dean doesn't know why he hates himself so much for feeling like he failed Cas. But it does gnaw in his gut something fierce.

"Dean!" Castiel snaps out of it the moment his fist connects. "Dean, I've hit you."

"Yeah, you got quite a sock," Dean says, trying not to stumble into Castiel's beautifully-stained chest of drawers. He nearly succeeds, displacing a gag gift baseball that Dean had actually given to him as a joke gift when they first met.

"We'll put a steak on it," Castiel says with an edge of worry to his voice.

"Hey, whoa," Dean says as Castiel tries to get out of bed and nearly drops to his knees. "You're still a little-"

"I know what I am, Dean," Cas says helplessly with a sharp edge- his impatience with his condition clear.

Man, Dean chuckles to himself, he's as much a hard ass as I was. He manages to slip under Cas and get them both to the kitchen, not too troubled by how comfortable and familiar this is all becoming. Castiel wasn't the first guy he'd been a crutch for, though arguably its with the best result this time.

Dean chooses a bag of peas to cool his shiner with this time, instead of the steak. He'd much rather have that for breakfast, truth be told, but he doesn't want to feel like a freeloader anymore. No way, no how.

Castiel begins to thumb through the Psalms on an uncomfortable looking stool as a way of calming his nerves after he has a long gulp of tap water.

"Which one ya on now?"

"52," Cas says without looking up.

Dean watches his lips move and he reads along silently. He doesn't really believe in the Bible but he admires Cas' devotion to an old text full of ancient ideas about kindness and patience. Sometimes he wishes he had the resolve for that sort of thing.

"I do not like it when you watch me read," Castiel says without bothering to look up.

HIs back is stiff as they move toward the living room, in direct opposition to Dean, who stretches himself across a small futon that has taken the place of the exercise bike while Dean is at Cas' place, helping him dry out. Castiel doesn't expect company, although Charlie and two of the girls from the group have stopped by since he gave back his coin. It's as though he wants to entertain, but he's pushing back the people who could help him achieve that goal, Dean observes. A struggle, like time. Time has an odd way of stretching and molding around an addict's life, much like bread dough being kneaded before baking begins.

"Then stop moving your lips," Dean challenges.

Castiel looks up at him, annoyed but too harried and haunted to fight back much. "It is one of my idiosyncracies. You could simply just stop watching me read. Or find your own Bible."

"Cas, you know I don't believe in that ancient gobbledy-gook."

"That ancient gobbledy-gook, as you call it, is a beautiful book that is holy to many people."

"Yeah, that and throw in the Koran and you've got enough poetry to start a war with. What's your point?"

"Dean, what is it that you believe in then that is so much better?"

Dean shrugs. He's not sure he has anything to prove. "I guess I believe in my brother."

"Your brother?"

"Well, yeah. He got the best of everything. Dad's brains, mom's kindness. His own brand of hope. And he didn't end up a screwed-up high school drop-out washup like his big brother."

"Dean-"

"It's true and you know it."

They've been going back and forth like this for the entire dry-out period. His pee has been coming out pretty clean from the drug testing kit his sponsor sent him, but Castiel's not convinced it's all through his system yet. Dean doesn't want to voice it because, for the first time, he feels necessary to someone else. And it's nice. He doesn't just feel like dead weight in Castiel's life.

He feels like the right kind of driftwood this time.

"Dean-"

"I swear to God, Cas, if you thank me or apologize one more time, I am gonna leave."

"I feel I should."

"You have nothing to be sorry about or for, Cas. I'm here because you're a friend."

"You're a good man, Dean Winchester."

Dean snorts in response. "Nice of you to say."

"You still don't think so? You could've given up on me. But you didn't."

"You're not as a bad as you think, Cas."

"I'm not?" Castiel quirks his brow. "If I were better, there would have never been a divorce. There would have never been-"

Dean shakes his head. "You're doing it again."

"I saw it in my dream again."

"It's just a dream. It's already happened. Let it go, Cas." It sounds weird coming out of Dean's mouth. And he's not too keen on hearing the story again, even if it makes him a selfish bastard. He's never cared about being a selfish bastard before.

"It's all there- the black ice, the-"

When Dean kisses Castiel, it's rough, bruising. It's more a way of shutting him up than anything. He doesn't do it based on the idea of lust. He does it to break the spell of proverbial nightmares haunting Castiel, a direct result- a line of reasoning stretching not far back towards the ice cream parlour and the night of Les Miserables.

Dean had bought the professional soundtrack soon after the performance, he listened to the shuffle nearly obsessively. He saw Castiel when he looked at it, at how proud Castiel looked at his daughter. It was a look of hope he himself had only achieved once, sitting on the trunk of the Impala with Sam watching fireworks and drinking before Sam had left for Stanford.

"Dean?" Castiel's face is a map of conflict and bewilderment. Dean knows he's the direct cause but it's better than the alternative, all things considered.

"Sorry," he mumbles, embarressed. "Guess I should've asked permission first?"

"That would have been nice."

The Bible drops to the floor, splayed out across Castiel's feet, nearly touching Dean's shoe. "You're gonna offend me, Cas. I'm supposed to be a stud, remember?"

"I'm not arguing the validity of the kiss, Dean. It was very nice. I was merely blindsided is all," Castiel says after carefully choosing his words.

"So you ain't reciprocatin', is that it?"

"You stayed because you have feelings for me beyond friendship?"

"Well shit," Deacon counters with, feeling like he's under a bright spotlight. "We could just keep asking each other questions all night and never get anywhere."

Castiel thinks for a moment. "You bought the soundtrack because of me, didn't you?"

Dean nods, unsure of why he hangs his head a little and looks slightly sheepish. "Couldn't help it."

"What is it you see when you dream?"

Dean gulps. He doesn't know if he can share. "I don't much dream, Cas. I only dream about one thing when I do and it ain't no good. Don't-"

"Dean-" Castiel's voice isn't a warning. It's soft. Like in the old days. Or what passes for old days in the AA circle of life.

Dean looks up, Castiel watching him, pools of blue locked on his tight. "My mom. She died in a fire and I was the last one out. Last one to see her. I couldn't save her cause I made a choice to get Sam. Nothing was ever the same after."

"How old were you?"

"Old enough," Dean pulls away, the room becoming unbearably hot.

"Dean-" Castiel's voice pulls him back. "Would you stay with me?"

"I already am."

"No," Castiel gulps. "I mean, closer than merely being on a couch."

"You mean, like move in?"

"Possibly as an eventuality, but more to the point- tonight, to be in my bed, to hold my hand. To provide a mutual comfort-"

"Woah, Cas, what are we talking about here?"

"This discomfort from the man who has kissed me?"

"Hell yeah, discomfort, I don't know what that was all about," Dean lies, moving around the room, straightening things up that don't need it, fidgeting.

"Dean, have you come out to yourself?"

He says it so casually that Dean breaks out in a cold sweat. "I man doesn't need to explain himself to anyone," he tosses out casually. "What he does is his own business."

"That isn't what I asked," Castiel says, the anchor of the room as he watches Dean descend into madness.

"I know," Dean growls in a loud voice and then tries to calm himself, "what you asked. I don't have an answer."

"Were you happy when my daughter thought that you and I were dating?"

"I don't know," Dean answers, trying not to do so sharply. "Is that why you fell off the wagon?"

"Yes." The answer is quick and slaps Dean like an iceberg across his cheek.

"I ain't worthy of you?" Dean asks, the weariness evidence in his voice, his hands clenched and ready to pummel a wall, a window, anything that isn't Castiel's face. The anger, the pain, they're all there- right underneath the surface.

"That's not what I said at all," Castiel rises, facing Dean. His face is serene. It does not calm Dean down. "I did not know what I felt for you then. I was so afraid. It feels so late in my life to start something new." Dean's fist shakes as Castiel lays a hand over one. "Why are we both so afraid?"

"A relationship with two addicts in it is doomed to failure," Dean says from rote- one of the only things that he's learned from any of the books or pamphlet nonsense that stuck.

"What if we're the exception?"

"Don't do this, Cas. Don't hitch up to my wagon."

"I believe it's too late for such things, Dean Winchester. Please, kiss me again."


End file.
